


Yank

by siegeofangels



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Misuse of the GoPro Performance Chest Mount, Unbetaed: We Die Like Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siegeofangels/pseuds/siegeofangels
Summary: In which the bodycam harnesses get put to good use





	Yank

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sansets and cinco for saying nice things when I sent them words in email

The first time Shane does it, he's not even thinking, just reacting on pure instinct. 

Generally he's pretty laissez-faire on shoots, lets Ryan do his thing while Shane does his own, and neither of them have been hurt yet, by super-, preter-, or plain old natural forces. 

And most of this shoot goes like that; they wander through the dressing rooms of the supposedly haunted theater (Ryan sees himself in a mirror and yelps), poke around backstage (Ryan freaks himself out by looking at sandbags in the dark), and climb up to the catwalk (Ryan leans over the edge to look down. His hand slips). 

His hand slips.

Shane's hand darts out, almost of its own volition, grabs the strap of Ryan's camera harness, and *yanks*, pulling Ryan away from the edge before he can fall. 

Ryan stumbles backwards and crashes into Shane's body with an *oof*. He's breathing hard, harsh in the quiet theater. "Fuck, fuck," Ryan says. "Shit, I almost fell, didn't I? Did something push me?" 

"Your hand slipped," Shane says. Ryan almost fell forty feet onto hardwood and Shane feels strangely detached. It's fine. Ryan's fine. Shane still has his fingers curled around Ryan's camera harness and Ryan isn't going anywhere. 

Shane's heart is thumping faster than it ever has on a shoot. He feels--something. 

_Oh,_ he thinks, and lets go. 

***

The next time he does it, it's because Ryan is weirdly reticent about going into a tiny closet that may or may not have been the site of a hanging. 

Usually Ryan does need a couple of minutes to psych himself up, but Shane has already gone in and sat on the floor in the quiet, and now he's ready to be done with this place, ready for a hot shower and some diner pancakes. 

“I just--” Ryan is pacing. “I don't know.” 

“It's fine,” Shane says, meaning _you'll be fine_. “It's small but bat-free.” 

But Ryan is still going in metaphorical and literal circles, and this will make Shane nauseated if it goes on long enough, so Shane reaches out and snags Ryan by the chest strap as he passes.

Ryan looks at him, his eyes somehow even wider than they'd been. 

“Do it or don't,” Shane says. “Just make a decision, we're burning midnight here.” 

Ryan is very still but Shane can feel his heart beat under his knuckles, can feel his chest rise and fall with his breaths. 

Ryan pulls back a little, but Shane holds on tight. Ryan's not really trying to get away. 

“Fine,” Ryan says finally. “Okay. I'm going.” 

Shane lets him.

And then Shane has to stand there with the fucking camera and pretend like he's not thinking about it, about the way he moved Ryan around, about the way Ryan let him. 

“Not scary, but . . . interesting,” he says, and looks back at the timer, counting down from two. 

***

From then it's like he can't quite help himself, he keeps reaching out to grab Ryan by the camera harness and pull him, push him. Sometimes he just--gives Ryan a tug and lets go, just a little “I can do this,” because. 

Because Ryan lets him. He doesn't bat Shane's hand away or refuse to be moved or, hell, pull Shane along like a tugboat. Ryan's strong enough to stop Shane if he wants to, and he doesn't. Right? He doesn’t.

So. 

So Shane keeps slipping his fingers under the tight straps of Ryan's bodycam rig.

(He tries not to think too much about why he keeps it off camera.) 

***

And then they're getting ready for a shoot, gearing up, putting on all of their attachments, and Ryan goes, “Hey, could you not do the thing?” 

“The thing?” Shane says, buckling a buckle. “The skeptic thing?” 

“The--” Ryan looks away and shrugs into his bodycam straps. “The thing where you grab me like I'm a dog in a harness.” 

“Oh,” Shane says, too loudly. He coughs. “That thing.” 

“That thing!” Ryan says, snapping the camera in. 

Shane looks away and says, “Sorry. I didn't realize you hated it that much.” 

And that's that. 

***

“I don't hate it,” Ryan says. They're on their way to the hotel for eight blessed hours of sleep and then the long drive back to LA. 

“Glad you realized that, buddy, because you're kind of locked into ghost hunting as a career path at this point.” Shane says. 

“That's not what I mean,” Ryan says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“I’m not going to guess.”

“Look,” says Ryan. “The--the thing. With the bodycam straps. You didn't, like, traumatize me, you don't have to stay sixteen feet away from me at all times.” He takes a hand off the wheel to gesture at Shane, who has, he has to admit, situated himself as far away from Ryan as possible and still be in the passenger seat of the car. 

“I just--” Ryan laughs nervously. “I, uh, I like it.” 

Then why--”Ohhh,” Shane realizes. “You *like* it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“In a non-public way.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ohhhhhh,” Shane says again, and they lapse into silence until they get to the hotel and unload all of their shit into the room. 

Shane collapses onto his bed. He is very tired at this point, which is his excuse for saying, “In a sex way, right? That's what you mean?” 

Ryan pops his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. “YEF, IN A FEKF WAY, FAYNE,” he hollers around the toothpaste, exasperated-sounding, and ducks back in to rinse and spit. 

Shane thinks. Is it a sex thing for him? He tries to picture some chick, wearing a bodycam. Hmm. Little Shane doesn't have much to say about that. He swaps her out for Ryan, maybe Ryan without a shirt, with the straps of the harness tight around his chest, just below his nipples. Shane thinks about curling his fingers around the strap, about pulling Ryan to him and holding him there. 

Oh. 

Shane opens his eyes and looks down at the boner tenting his pants.

Ryan emerges from the bathroom and also looks at Shane's boner. “Sex way?” 

“Apparently,” says Shane. “Is it--are you into, like, the idea in the abstract or are you into the idea of sexing me, personally.” 

Ryan flops down on his own bed. “I'm not opposed to sexing you. Or you sexing me? Like, what is the proper parlance for the person who yanks the other one around and the person who's the. . . yankee?” 

Shane snorts. “Yankee. Okay. Sexing. Mutual--okay, yes. Can we talk about this later? Like, back in LA later?” 

He can't think about it any more tonight, here in this liminal space of a hotel room, an anonymous place that could be any other anonymous place. He needs them to be themselves if--when--they do this.

“Yeah,” Ryan says softly. “Yeah, come over when we get home.” 

***

The ride back is not entirely devoid of awkward giggling and weird silences, but nobody yells PSYCH and soon they're back in LA. 

As Ryan is dropping Shane at his place he says, “I, um, did you still--” 

Shane does not want to say 'sexing’ outdoors. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. What time?” 

“Like, seven?” Ryan says. He sounds like he's about a 8 on the scale of Nervous Ryan Bergara. 

“Okay,” Shane says again. “I'll be there.” 

***

At seven Shane is showered, shaven, and standing outside Ryan’s, trying not to round the corner into an eight on the nervousness scale himself, because one of them needs to be calm, that’s how their whole dynamic works. 

Ryan opens the door. 

“Did you somehow find a smaller shirt than your regular shirts?” Shane says without thinking as he walks in. . 

Ryan looks like he’s on display, like he’s here for Shane to look at, to move around.

“I mean,” Ryan says, “I thought--it should be tight. So the--the harness can be. Tight.” 

“--flk,” says Shane. He sits down on the couch, the safe couch, the same couch he’s sat on a million times before to watch movies or play video games or go over footage. Ryan sits down next to him, and Shane makes himself look at him, makes himself feel less nervous. 

“Okay, buddy,” Shane says quietly. “Tell me all about it. What are we about to do?” 

Ryan takes a deep breath. “We’re--you’re gonna put the bodycam harness on me, and then you’re gonna--put me where you want me.” 

Shane reaches out and puts a hand to Ryan’s temple, lets Ryan lean his head into Shane’s palm and close his eyes. 

“Just, just let me feel you holding it, holding me, and--” 

Shane noses along Ryan’s neck, up to his ear. “And?” he whispers. 

Ryan gulps. “And you’re, you’re gonna make me ask permission to come.” 

Shane didn’t even know that was a thing he wanted, but he does, his body is singing with it. Shane nuzzles into Ryan’s neck. “Good,” he tells him. “Yes. Let us do . . . that. Where’s the--the thing?” 

He makes Ryan take his shirt off first, then wraps the straps around him and clicks the buckle in place. Spends a little while adjusting things so it’s tight against Ryan’s body. Drags his fingertips across his skin. 

“Good,” Shane says finally, and grabs Ryan firmly by one front strap. He thinks that might make the edge of the strap dig into Ryan’s neck. He’s glad of it, hot with it. 

“Fuck,” Ryan says, and goes a little limp and pliable. 

Shane sits back down on the couch and pulls Ryan with him, into his lap. “Can you lean back?” Shane says, and Ryan does, until some of his upper body weight is being held by the harness and the only thing holding him up is Shane. 

Ryan keeps opening and closing his hands, like he’s not sure what to do with them. 

“No,” Shane says, “you’re not allowed to hold on, you’re right about that. But I think you should jerk off for me, really give me a show here.” 

Ryan lets out a whimper and undoes his pants enough to get his dick out. He’s hard and Shane’s barely touched him. (Shane’s hard too, but he’s holding Ryan up with one hand, which is lighting his brain right up.) 

“Nice and slow,” Shane says, and switches hands, switches straps, lets Ryan feel how it shifts his weight a little in the harness. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Ryan says, staring up at Shane, down at his own hand on his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna--” 

“No, you’re not,” Shane says. “You didn’t ask, you gotta ask nicely.” 

Ryan’s hand is still moving. “Fuck, fuck, please Shane, please--” 

“I could make you jerk me off first,” Shane says, almost to himself. “That’s always an option--no, hands to yourself, I haven’t decided.” 

Ryan is squirming now and making increasingly desperate, wordless sounds. The movement is doing interesting things to Shane’s lap, and it’s probably just making Ryan feel even more trapped and at Shane’s mercy. This is great. 

“Try again,” Shane says. “Ask me.” 

Ryan’s chest expands against the straps as he takes a deep breath. “Shane can I please come, please will you let me, I need it, need you, please Shane,” he babbles. 

Shane pinches him, just below the navel. “Yes, do it, come,” he says, and gets the gratifying vision of Ryan squeezing his eyes shut and bucking against the harness as he jerks himself to completion. 

Shane pulls hard and Ryan curls forward to bury his face in Shane’s neck, breathing fast and damp against his skin, one arm around Shane’s neck, as close as he can get.

“I’m gonna,” Shane says quietly into Ryan’s hair. 

Ryan nods and shifts just enough that Shane can get a hand down to his own dick. 

“Fuck, you were so good,” Shane says, and Ryan makes such a delicious sound that it makes Shane come. 

It’s quiet for a minute; all Shane can hear is his own panting. He doesn’t know how they go back to the way things were before, but then again he doesn’t know if they have to. 

Ryan’s still got an arm around his neck, so Shane nibbles a little at his bicep and says, “Hey.” It comes out quiet and gravelly. 

“Mm,” says Ryan. “I forgot to tell you there would be cuddling in the plan, there's cuddling now. Put your arms around me.” 

“Okay,” Shane says, and does.


End file.
